


Between the Pages

by Downward Stroke (casual_distance)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Past Kent/Jack, Background Transphobia, Check Please! Big Bang, Check Please! Big Bang 2016, Coming Out, Demisexual Dex, Falling In Love, M/M, Trans Dex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_distance/pseuds/Downward%20Stroke
Summary: It starts out as a repair job and grows out of hand, much like his relationship with owner.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for Between the Pages](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708899) by [the_bloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_bloss/pseuds/the_bloss). 



> I volunteered to pitch-hit for the OMGCPBB and was given @kent-parsons-cowlick’s [wonderful artwork](https://kent-parsons-cowlick.tumblr.com/post/153878994575/cpbb-between-the-pages). Hopefully I did it justice, especially since it's my first time writing Kent/Dex.

It takes Will two minutes to drive the full length of the driveway. He slows to a stop in front of the house and spares another minute to glare. It's all white columns and a wrap-around porch and manicured lawns that Will knows from experience take the constant attention of a full staff of gardeners. He probably shouldn’t still find himself angry when he's called to a job in a place like this, but he does.

He shakes it off, shoves the anger down, and gives his truck enough gas to coast the last few feet of the driveway to the small road that will take him around to the side of the house. He pulls up next to a line of cars- the staff’s cars- and parks. 

Through the windows of the side door, Will sees a woman in slacks and a button down shirt hidden behind a dirty white apron working over the stove, tasting food from three different pots. When he knocks, she looks up, spares a minute to fuss at one of the pots, and then pushes open the door with a wide smile. She studies him as she wipes her hands clean, eyes darting up and down his body.

"Will?" she asks.

He nods. "April?"

She smiles and offers her hand. He shakes it as she says, "Yes. Come in. The laundry room is through here. We've started having trouble with the dryer now too. And the fridge which is strange."

"Are you sure it's the machines?" Will asks.

She opens a door to a large room of white tile and pauses, frowning at him. "What do you mean?"

She lets him walk through the door first. Will stops in the middle of the room and spins in a circle to take it all in.

"Might be an electrical issue if everything's plugged into the same circuit."

"I wouldn't know about that." She gestures to her apron with a smile. "Chef. Is it something you can check on?”

Will shrugs. "Sure. I've done some electrical work."

She leaves him alone then, pulling the door mostly closed behind her with a comment to get her if he needs anything.

Will sets his tool box down in front of the stacked washer and dryer. A table stretches the length of the wall beside it, ending in a deep sink with an attached faucet and hose. On the wall opposite, there's a freezer-less fridge and an industry-sized stand-alone freezer, low and fat and humming quietly.

Will opens it out of curiosity and finds it packed with foil-wrapped packages. Masking tape labels with a fine, blocky print are centered on each package. He lets the lid drop shut and steps back. 

Next to the fridge, on the short wall, there's a door that's half window leading to the backyard and showing off more flat, green lawn spotted with stepping-stone paths. The last wall of the room is crowded with two solid doors. Will pulls them open to find that one leads to a closet lined with tools and the other to the three car-garage at the front of the house. Inside sit a black Cadillac Escalade and a shiny red Aston Martin. Will shakes his head and shoves the door closed. 

He looks around again, then he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

He's elbow deep in the guts of the dryer and doesn't hear the door to the garage open. He does hear it when someone wolf whistles him- at his ass in the air, pants pulled tight. Will bangs his head on the dryer and jerks himself out of it to glare, hand at the top of his head.

Kent Parson stands in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the doorjamb, helmet tucked under his arm, a smirk stretching his face. Will swears under his breath. Parson's grin grows wider.

"Sorry, man," he says, unrepentant. He's wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Will knows the flush on Parson’s face is adrenaline; he remembers riding fast down open highways, a motorcycle between his thighs, but it's been ages since he's done that, his bike long since traded in for a truck.

Will rolls his eyes and turns his back on Parson. Parson strolls over and sets his helmet down next to the sink. He drags himself up on the counter to kick his feet as he watches Will work. Will ignores him, used to uncles and cousins and brothers peering over his shoulder. Used to, even, rich men like Parson standing over him to judge him for work they'd never be able to do themselves.

"What's wrong with it?" Parson asks.

"Nothing."

"You've taken it apart," he points out like Will doesn't know.

Will carefully feeds wires back into place. "There's an electrical short somewhere. Needed to make sure it wasn't in the machine itself."

"So... what’s that mean?"

Will leans back to look up at Parson's face. He's got one blond eyebrow cocked in question. His face is open and curious. Will stares up at him until Parson starts frowning and then forces himself to focus on the dryer, embarrassment heating his cheeks.

"Don't know yet. Might be a wiring problem."

"Huh." Parson slides off the counter. He grabs his helmet and leaves Will alone without another comment. Will sits back on his heels and rubs his arm across his face, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Of all the people he'd expected to be working for, captain of the Las Vegas Aces was not one of them.

 

* * *

 

Will doesn't even know how he ended up in Las Vegas. Things hadn't been bad at home, exactly, but after he'd come out, it had stopped being home and started being uncomfortable and a fight and- and so he'd found himself on the road, headed to an uncle's house, one who'd moved away from the family years ago. 

Uncle Jim had taken him in without comment and called him Will and did his best to say _he’s my nephew_ and let him work around the house until he'd gotten a part-time job at a restaurant.

Will had never pegged himself for restless, but a few months sleeping on Uncle Jim's couch had proven him wrong. Uncle Jim had a friend two states over looking for help in his car shop. Will left the next morning.

It had gone like that, job to job, friend to friend- sometimes not even that, just the mention of work someplace else would be enough to send Will on his way. He had traveled from Massachusetts to Pennsylvania to Kentucky to Tennessee. He'd traveled down to Florida and then left as soon as possible for another job in Louisiana- New Orleans. He'd liked it there and had stayed for nearly half a year. He'd skipped Texas and Oklahoma entirely to try some jobs in New Mexico, working on ranches and farming equipment. He'd traveled up then, heading north until he hit the Canadian border. After that, he'd wandered to Washington, down to Oregon, and then landed in Las Vegas where he'd settled in to bide his time until he was ready to leave again.

Will hates Las Vegas, but he spends most of his time working in little almost-cities like Boulder City or Blue Diamond where rich retirees need someone young to do the work they couldn't and didn't want to any more.

It isn't as bad as it could have been, which is the best thing Will has to say about it.

 

* * *

 

Jaime- Will’s seventeen year old neighbor- comes with him the next time he's out at Parson's. Jaime's an Aces fan and he bounces on the balls of his feet and stares around the house with wide eyes. Will regrets inviting him, but he can't move so many appliances by himself and Jaime needs the cash.

Will props open the garage door; the Escalade is gone, leaving room for the appliances instead as Will had asked. They kick the dolly into place and drag them one at a time into the garage, bumping through the door. It’s easy going. Or it is until Jaime lets go of the dolly and nearly nails Will's foot with the fridge. Will swears at him and comes around ready to punch him only to find Jaime staring at Kent Parson.

Will grits his teeth and slaps Jaime's shoulder to get his attention. He shoves a couple of bills at him, cursing Parson's timing. The fridge is the last, but he’ll never be able to keep Jaime’s attention now.

"Get out of here," he tells Jaime. Jaime nods, but he's staring starry-eyed at at Parson and not moving.

Parson grins at him and keeps grinning until Will punches Jaime again.

"Get out of here, Jesus," he swears. Jaime starts then and ducks his head as his cheeks flush red. He has to edge past Parson to leave and Parson slaps him on the shoulder and says, "Thanks, man."

Jaime squeaks and it's only Will's dark look that finally gets him out the door and on his way.

Will rolls his eyes as he turns away to manhandle the fridge the rest of the way into the garage. He leaves it unplugged; both the fridge and the freezer had been emptied for him already. 

When he returns to the laundry room, Parson is still standing there, watching him. Will snags his bag from under the counter to dig through it for what he needs- this time instead of a wrench and pliers and a Philips head, Will digs out a meter and a wire stripper and electrical tape.

Parson wanders over and picks up the meter, playing with the probes and twisting the dial. He picks up the wire stripper and squeezes it.

"What's this for?"

"Work," Will answers. He takes it from Parson's hand and sets it back on the counter. He reaches up to undo the buttons of his shirt and freezes.

Parson's leaning against the counter, hip cocked, arms folded over his chest, hazy eyes focused on Will's fingers. Will hesitates. Parson looks up at him, holds his gaze, and then winks.  
Will sneers and rolls his sleeves down, buttoning the cuffs. His heart pounds in his chest, a nervous fear making his palms sweat. Parson laughs and leaves him alone to work.

 

* * *

 

"The wiring's pretty messed up," Will tells April as she makes him a sandwich. She'd been downplaying her role when she'd called herself a chef. She cooked most of Parson’s meals, but she also took care of the household maintenance. It makes Will itch, coming from a home where you pitched in and did your share of chores and no one person was more or less responsible than the others. 

April is nice enough though, and she nods and listens as Will explains the extent of the problem. 

"Can you fix it?" she asks. Will blinks at her in surprise.

"Uh, yeah, but it'll take a while by myself."

April gives him a considering look as she passes him his plate. "Are you good?"

Will takes a bite of his sandwich to buy himself time. April watches patiently.

"Yeah," he admits. 

"Then it'll be fine. It's difficult around here to find honest people."

Will nods. "Do you mind if I-?" He points toward the back yard, holding his plate and a glass of water. April glances over and then smiles at him.

"Please. Take your time."

Will pushes out the large glass doors in the dining room and sits down at the table on the back porch. He sets his plate and his glass down. He eats half his sandwich faster than he should; he'd grown up used to hurrying. He slows down on the second half, pulling _Voices from Chernobyl_ from his back pocket and flipping to the page he'd dog-eared late last night.

He's only a few pages in when someone plucks the book from his hands. Will jerks, grabbing for the book on reflex. He settles for glaring when he sees Parson sitting down across from him.

"What's this?" Parson asks. He props his feet up on another chair and starts picking through the pages.

"A book," Will answers acidly.

Parson looks up at him at that, but instead of a smirk, he looks- Will blinks and feels his anger shift sideways. Parson forces a grin up on his face and waves the book at him.

"No shit. What's it about?"

"Chernobyl."

Parson drops the book on the table next to a bottle of beer and stares at him. "Aren't you so very helpful. I _can_ read, you know. I know the pretty face throws people off, but I actually managed to graduate high school."

Will huffs a laugh at that. He reaches across the table to grab the book. "It's a collection of personal recountings from those who were affected by Chernobyl."

"Sounds heavy."

"Yeah. It's good."

"You readin' that for college?" Parson picks up the bottle to drink.

Will frowns, confused. "I'm not in college."

Parson raises his eyebrows and lowers his beer slowly. "Really?"

Will shrugs and looks down at the book. He flicks through the pages. 

"Just figured you for the college type."

Will sighs. "I'm just taking some time off. I just needed to... I dunno. Figure things out."

Parson laughs at that, but it's not amused. Will studies him, but Parson doesn't return the look, just focuses on his drink as he stares out across his lawn. 

Will returns to his sandwich. When he’s finished, he stands and tucks the book into his back pocket, then carries his plate into the kitchen. April takes it from him and shoos him off to work. 

Will stands in the middle of the laundry room and stares out the windows in the door to the backyard. Parson still sits at the table, fingers wrapped around his beer, head tipped back, his arm over his face.

 

* * *

 

"Your book is too sad."

Will looks up to find Parson standing by the sink, back in the leather jacket, helmet dangling from his hand. He taps the counter and Will sits up enough to see that he's actually tapping a stack of books. 

"Try these instead."

Parson winks at him and then leaves the laundry room through the garage. Will hears the garage door rumble open and then the revving of a motorcycle. Will caps the wires he'd been testing and stands. He stretches his arms over his head and wanders over to look at the books. He smiles at the first, pulling it across the counter. He opens the cover and flips through the pages. He closes it to thumb through the rest of the books in the stack. He sets the first back on top, lines them up, and then goes back to work.

Before Will leaves for the day, he grabs the stack of books and tucks them under his arm.

 

* * *

 

Will finds the short in the wiring. He also finds that the rest of the wiring is pretty shoddy. He pokes through a couple of the outlets in the room and spends most of the time grimacing. When April asks before he leaves for the day, he tells her what he found.

She clucks her tongue as she snaps the lid on a Tupperware container and pushes it toward him.

"I'm not surprised. We've had issues for ages, but Mr. Parson doesn't worry himself about things like that. Can you fix it?"

Will frowns. "Fix it?"

"The wiring?"

He accepts the Tupperware. "For the whole room?"

"Sure. You've done well. Mr. Parson likes you."

Will snorts and rolls his eyes. "I'll think about it."

 

* * *

 

"April says the wiring's shit."

"Yeah." Will doesn't look up from where he's stripping two wires to splice together.

"You going to fix it?"

"Nope."

"Oh, come on."

Parson nudges him with his foot. Will swats at it and misses.

"If I get electrocuted..."

"The power's off, man. You can’t fool me."

Will sighs and sits back on his haunches. He looks up at Parson. Parson looks down at him. The smirk is in place, that low look that sends a shiver down Will's spine despite himself. He stands up, smoothing down his jeans.

"What do you want?" Will asks. 

"April said she asked you to stay and you said no."

"It's a big job by myself." It means sticking around, probably longer than Will wants to.

"I can pay you more."

"Why does it matter? Just hire someone else. A professional maybe."

Parson frowns at him, but Will ignores it. He ducks down to grab his tools. He straightens up to find Parson peering inside his bag. He grins up at Will before he reaches inside and pulls out the books hidden there.

"Take it you liked them."

Will rolls his eyes. " _Calvin and Hobbes_ is a classic."

Parson holds up _Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game_ and makes faces at it. "This looks like another boring one."

"Would have thought you'd be into the sports books."

Parson raises an eyebrow in question.

"You're a jock, aren't you?"

Parson barks a laugh and tosses the book back into the bag. He shoves it across the counter to Will and then hauls himself up beside it.

"Didn't think you knew who I was."

"Did you want me to?"

Will stares at Parson until he looks away. Parson scrubs a hand over his face and up through his hair. He sighs as he slides off the counter.

"Look-" He turns back to Will, expression drawn tight. "Just take the fucking job. If it's a bigger job, I'll pay more."

Will studies him. "I'll think about it."

Parson's expressions closes off even more. He shrugs. "Sure. Whatever." 

He leaves Will standing at the counter, staring after him.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't see Parson for weeks, but the day after he accepts the job- and the pay increase- there's a Stephen King book in the laundry room.

 

* * *

 

“What is this?” Will asks, cornering Parson when he wanders through the laundry room on the way in from the garage, helmet tucked up under his arm. He favors the motorcycle over the other vehicles Will has come to learn.

“What?” Parson asks. He grins when Will holds up the book. “You like non-fiction. I notice these things.”

Will scoffs and tosses the book back to him. “I don’t write. Why would I read a book about writing?”

Parson catches it easily. His grins still hasn’t faded. “I read it.”

“Do you want to be a writer?” Will shoots back.

Parson shrugs. He wanders over to lean up against the counter by Will. He rolls the book around in his hands, then thumbs it open. 

“Nah. Not really.”

Will fusses at the wires sticking out of the wall, but he doesn’t really work. He tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind. Parson finally straightens up and tucks the book under his arm.

“Let’s go get lunch.”

Will looks up at him. “What?”

Parson shows Will his wrist. He’s wearing a large watch, clunky on it’s leather band. “It’s lunch time,” he says. “Let’s go get lunch.”

Will frowns at him. “I don’t-”

Parson holds up his helmet. “I’ll let you drive it.”

Parson’s expression is sly, like he’s certain this is something Will wants, something Will thinks about. Like he’s seen the envy burning inside Will when he hears the engine revving. Will hates that look, but he likes the way Parson’s eyes light when Will sighs and gives in.

On the motorcycle, Parson sits too close. He presses himself flat to Will’s back and wraps his arms around Will’s stomach. His thighs tighten around Will’s hips. 

Will hasn’t been this close to another person in years. Not since he cut his hair and tossed out his make-up and bought his first binder with carefully saved money.

It’s a strange sensation, to be so close to someone as himself. It’s stranger still that he finds himself enjoying it.

Parson directs him with gestures and the lean of his body to a small diner that sits on the outskirts of Las Vegas. It’s run down, the paint dull, marked with dirt, chipped away to reveal the brick and wood underneath. The door sticks when Parson pushes on it. It’s clean inside, but no less worn down.

The woman behind the counter leans over it to press a kiss to Parson’s cheek.

“Kenny,” she greets. “It’s been a while.”

Parson grins at her. “You know I never stay away that long.”

She rolls her eyes and hands over two menus. “Wherever you like,” she directs as her eyes flick over Will with dull curiosity.

Parson leads them toward the far corner. He picks a booth on a wall without windows and drops the menus on the table as he sits down. Will slides in opposite him and picks one up to skim through it. 

Nothing stands out; it's the same menu in all the little diners that Will's ever been to. He decides on a burger and sets the menu aside, pushing it toward the end of the table so it’s easy to reach. Parson is looking over his menu, leaned back in his seat, flipping the menu back and forth like he can't decide. 

Still when the waitress comes to leave glasses of water and take their orders, Parson drops the menu and orders a cheeseburger with onions and tomatoes with no hesitation. Will orders his burger- lettuce, pickles, and ketchup- and smiles his thanks at the waitress as she takes the menus.

"So what are you writing?" Will asks.

Parson laughs. He leans forward and braces his elbows on the table. "No, really, I don't want to be a writer. Couldn't write a damn thing to save my life. I just like Stephen King."

"You must like him a lot to read a nonfiction book about writing."

Parson shrugs and grins. "Come on now. You read nonfiction books about baseball and nuclear disasters. You aren't a jock or a scientist."

"How do you know, Parson?" Will challenges.

"Kent."

"What?"

"Call me Kent, and you travel around. Not really much room to play a sport like baseball."

Will shakes his head. He drinks some water, then gives in and admits, "I played hockey in high school. Considered going to college for it."

"Damn, really? You know I have a rink, right? We should skate together. See if you are any good." Parson’s face is a challenge.

Will hadn’t known about the rink. He’d seen the building at the back of the property but he hadn’t known that’s what it was.

Will scoffs. "I was offered scholarships. I was good enough."

"So why'd you give it up?" 

"I never wanted to go pro," Will defends. 

The amusement in Parson's face fades a little. "Yeah. It's not really for everyone." His eyes dart away and he forces them back, forces levity into his voice when he says, "Anyway, I want to own all his books. I've been looking for some of the rarer ones."

Will allows the subject change, though it takes him a moment to catch up. "Like what? Why?"

"What do you mean why? So I can have them. There's one book- _Different Seasons_ \- three of the four short stories in it inspired famous blockbusters. It's been a pain in the ass to buy."

"You haven’t found it?"

Parson sighs and leans back. "Every time I find a seller, it gets sold before I can make an offer."

"Sucks for you, Parson."

Parson groans and drops his head back. When he sits up again, he shakes his head. "Kent, man. Come on."

"Fine. Kent. You'd think with all your money you could get someone to find it for you."

"Eh. More fun to look for myself."

Will raises his eyebrows. Before he can respond, the waitress shows up, two plates in hand. She slides Kent's burger in front of him and then gives Will his. She smiles at them both, checks if they need anything, then leaves them alone. Will watches her go, then glances back at Kent to find him watching. He flicks his gaze down to Will's burger.

"Try it. They're the best."

Will narrows his eyes, suspicious, but Kent only stares at him expectantly. Will takes a bite and gives a soft moan. It is good- juicy, flavorful, the toppings fresh. Kent grins at his reaction and settles in to take a bite of his own burger. His feet brush against Will's as he shifts. Kent pulls them back, but when Will doesn't react, he shifts them back. Will feels his face heat and focuses on his burger. Kent huffs a small laugh and takes another bite of his burger. His feet settle beside Will's, a gentle pressure.

Will risks a glance up at Kent, who smiles at him. It feels strangely more intimate than the feel of Kent's body pressed against his on the way back.

 

* * *

 

"Will."

April stops him before he can head to the laundry room. Her shoulders are drawn tight and the smile she gives him is slight. She pushes a sheet of paper across the counter at him.

"Mr. Parson wants a list of tools. He noticed you were bringing your own and wants to provide everything you need."

Will drags the paper toward himself and glances at it. It's just a blank sheet of paper.

"My stuff is fine," Will says as he looks up at her.

She shrugs, her eyes darting toward the back yard. "It's what he asked for."

Will studies her for a moment and then grabs the paper. He folds it in half, then half again, and tucks it into his pocket.

In the laundry room, he glances out the back door window. The table is tipped over on its side. The chairs are thrown across the lawn. Paper is shredded and scattered everywhere, caught in the faint breeze. Will opens the door and steps out onto the back porch. He looks around but doesn't see Kent anywhere. He sets the table upright and drags the chairs back onto the porch, tucking them in place. He leaves the trash where it is. He glances at the large doors fronting the dining room. Through it, he can see April working in the kitchen.

With one last glance around, Will heads back into the laundry room to work.

 

* * *

 

Before he leaves for the night, Will sits at the dining room table and writes up a list of things he needs. April serves him a helping of the pasta and vegetables she's made for Kent’s dinner. In between each bite, he adds another item to the list. He flips the page over and considers starting a second list. He hasn't looked at the extent of it, but Will thinks he'll have to tear out some of the walls, get up into the ceiling for the lighting. He'll have to test all the outlets in the room. He doesn't know if the laundry room was an add-on or if the same person did more rooms, but it might not hurt to check those rooms too if so.

Will glances around the kitchen, takes notice of the lights and the outlets near the laundry door. As he's watching, the lights over the stove flicker. Will sighs and turns around to add to his list, only to startle at the sight of Kent Parson sitting across from him. He's slouched down in his chair, angled sideways, one arm draped over the back of it. A flush burns bright red in his cheeks; his eyes are heavy lidded.

Will watches him warily.

Kent points at Will's plate. "You gonna eat that?" he slurs.

"I thought April brought you food."

Kent shrugs and leans across the table to drag Will's dish close to him. He stabs his fork into a couple pieces of pasta and shoves them into his mouth. He points his fork at Will's paper.  
"What's that?"

Will flips it over and pushes it toward him. "The list you wanted."

Kent squints at it and then flips it back over to look at the other side. He eats another bite and frowns at it.

"These aren't tools."

"Plans. I've just tested the outlet the washer and dryer were plugged into, but chances are more of the wiring is bad. If the same electrician did more work-"

Kent laughs and drops the fork. "Christ." He runs a hand through his hair. "That fucker. You know how much I paid him?"

"Probably too much."

Kent swears again and sits back in his chair. "So does this mean you can fix it?"

"Maybe."

Kent huffs a laugh and pushes away from the table. He leaves without looking back, and it makes Will think of all the other times he’s watched Kent walk away without a word.

It's only when Will stands to take the plate into the kitchen to wash it that he realizes Kent took the list with him.

 

* * *

 

On the way home, Will finds himself driving past his apartment to the small strip mall a few blocks down. In the corner there's a used book store. It opens late and closes late; most of Will's books have come from it and then been sold back to it. The woman behind the counter- an older woman with hair the same sandy red as his mother- smiles at him when he comes in.

"Hi, Will," she greets.

"Emmy."

"Looking for anything in particular tonight?"

"Just looking."

She smiles again and lets him wander back into the stacks. He doesn't really know what he's looking for or why he’s here. He’s still in the middle of _My Brain on Fire_ , and interested enough to not be curious about a second book.

Still he wanders through the shelves, fingers trailing over spines. He finds himself in the horror section and ends up looking at the shelf of Stephen King novels. He thumbs through them, reading titles he's vaguely familiar with. He pulls one out and skims through it. He slips it back into its spot and wanders up to the front of the book store. Emmy is behind the counter, scanning books into her system and adding tags to them. She looks up as he approaches.

"Can you help me find a book?" he asks.

"I can try. What’s the book?"

 

* * *

 

Kent Parson is lying face down in the middle of the laundry room. Empty bottles litter the floor, a halo of alcohol around a fallen martyr. Will tilts his head, trying to make sense of the display. He toes Kent in the side and earns a groan. Kent slaps at him, hand dragging sluggishly across the tiled floor. His fingers catch on the hem of Will's pants and curl there. Kent grunts and tugs on him.

"Kent?"

"Fuck. Don't be so loud," he whines.

"Don't be so drunk," Will retorts. He shakes off Kent's hand and starts gathering bottles. He tosses them into the sink, heedless of the sound they make clattering together. Kent groans with each bottle tossed, and when Will turns around, he's curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his head.

"Are you going to get up?"

"No."

Will folds his arms over his chest. "I have to work."

Kent groans long and loud. He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. "Fuck work."

"Unlike you, I have to work to get paid."

Kent opens his eyes just to roll them at Will. "I'm your employer, asshole. Just hand me that bottle and get drunk with me."

Will twists around to look where Kent's pointing and spots a bottle of JD sitting on the counter. He twists open the cap and takes a swing, then hands it down to him. Kent sits up, but he doesn't drink. He crosses his legs and tucks the bottle into them. Will sits down, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Why are you drunk in the laundry room?"

"Not drunk any more. I’m hungover now." 

Kent shoots him a grin that he supposes is meant to be charming. Will snorts. Kent drinks finally. When he offers the bottle to Will, he refuses it with a shake of his head. Kent sets it on the ground in front of him and slides it back and forth between his hands.

"You ever been in love?" Kent asks, breaking their silence.

"No."

Kent grunts. He stops fussing with the bottle and just stares at it instead. Will doesn’t think he should ask, but the thing of it is- most of the time Will only sees Kent when he wanders through to the garage. They trade barbs in the same way they’ve started trading books, but it doesn’t go beyond that, those times. There are times, though, when Kent finds him and sits on the counter and asks questions about Will’s work. And there are other times when Kent finds him and bribes him with the motorcycle so he’ll go out and eat with him. They aren’t friends exactly, or very close, or anything like that, but the laundry room is the one place Kent comes when he wants to find Will. If Kent’s here, it’s because he came looking.

"Kent, what's this about?"

Kent's fingers twist restlessly. He doesn't look up, just reaches up to run hands through his hair, to tug restlessly at the locks. Will waits.

"I think my ex started dating someone. Like seriously."

"Oh." Will doesn't know what to say about that. His heart sinks a bit; Kent's clearly not over it. "Sorry."

Kent groans and rubs his hands across his face. He laughs and takes another drink. "Eh. It's strange, you know. You spend so much time worrying about what you did wrong, and then he tells you he never really cared. How fucked is that?"

Will frowns. He tries to parse through Kent's ramblings, but the only thing he takes away is- "He?"

He’s thought it, once or twice, with the way Kent will drag his eyes over Will’s body, and the way he presses up against him on the motorcycle, and the way he teases with words followed by gentle touches. Will’s thought it, but he’s never been good at these things to know for sure.

Kent flops backwards onto the floor again. Will grabs the bottle of Jack before Kent can kick it over.

"Yes. He. Are you going to out me?"

"What? No. Why would I do that?"

"Fuck if I know." Kent sits up again. "Do you know how much time I spent trying to convince- trying to convince my ex to come out? For us to be together. Then he fucks off and finds this- this fucking _twink_ and suddenly he's making plans." Kent huffs. He makes grabby hands at Will and Will slides the bottle over to him. He takes a swig and wipes his hand across his mouth. "Can't get much clearer than that."

Will stays quiet because he doesn't know what to say.

"I don't want to be out," Kent says.

Will looks at him to find Kent staring at him, mouth pulled down.

"I'm not going to out you, Kent."

Kent makes a face, and Will rolls his eyes.

"I mean it. Shit's hard enough without someone forcing it."

Kent blinks. He shakes his head and digs his knuckles into his eyes. "I may be too drunk for this conversation."

Will laughs. “I thought you weren’t drunk.”

Kent shrugs. "You're gay, too?"

Will holds his hand out for the bottle. Kent leans forward to put it into his hand.

"I guess. I mean, it's not- I don't really-" Will cuts himself off and takes a drink. "It's not a thing for me, like that. But what I was talking about was-" Will stops. He studies the label on the bottle. His heart pounds in his chest. Kent will be the first person outside his family if he does this. He wants to do this. He takes a deep breath and another drink. "I played hockey in high school."

“I remember. We still haven’t skated together.”

Will smiles at Kent despite himself, then shakes his head. “That’s not-” He blows out a breath. “That’s not-”

Will digs his knuckles into his eyes. He doesn’t think he can do this. Kent sits still for a moment, then he slides around to sit next to Will. He wraps a careful arm around Will’s shoulders.

“Didn’t mean to- ah- derail-” Kent starts then stops.

Will finds himself chuckling in amusement at Kent’s ragged sentences, at his own. Will has been angry for so long and at so many people, he’d lost track of what it was like to not be angry. Coming out to his family had given him a whole other set of reasons to be angry even as he’d made peace with others. Being on the road had settled some of that anger, but he’d felt empty afterwards, hadn’t known what to do with the spaces that had been left behind. He’d started reading because it gave him something else to feel. 

This stupid room of white tile and this stupid blond boy next to him gave him something else too.

Will lets himself lean into Kent. He says, “I played on the women’s team.”

Kent shifts, but he doesn’t take his arm back. Will glances at him out of the corner of his eye to see Kent looking at him. 

When Kent notices him looking back, he says, face earnestly serious, “Thanks.”

Will huffs, mouth twisting up in wry amusement. “Thanks?”

Kent shrugs, the arm around Will’s shoulder jostling him. “Dunno. Think that’s what you’re supposed to say.” He laughs. “I really might be too drunk for this conversation.”

“Yeah.” Will tips his head against Kent’s shoulder. After a moment, he feels the answering pressure of Kent’s head against his.

 

* * *

 

Will starts carrying _Different Seasons_ with him. He doesn’t know if he should give it to Kent, what it would mean if he did. He leaves it in his tool bag and does his best to ignore it. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to admit that he wants to do these kinds of things for Kent.

Some days, he convinces himself, it doesn’t mean anything and he can keep the book. Other days he can’t stop thinking about the weight of it.

 

* * *

 

Kent is in the kitchen when he arrives to work a few days later. He waves at Will with a wet spoon, flicking milk everywhere. Will sits down across from him, leaning forward to peer into his bowl.

"Cereal? Where's April?"

"Day off."

Kent points with his spoon at another bowl set beside the box of cereal and a jug of milk. Will fixes himself a bowl at the silent request. Kent drinks the last of his milk and then fixes himself a second bowl. He paces Will, matching him bite for bite. Will flicks cereal at him, which makes Kent laugh. He looks rung out, his lips pale and the bags under his eyes pronounced, but he's smiling so Will doesn’t ask.

The soft look on Kent’s face makes Will's chest hurt and before he can think about it, he leans over to dig through his bag and pull out _Different Seasons_. He sets it cover-down on the table and slides it across to Kent. Kent watches him, waiting until Will pulls his hand back to pick it up. He reads the cover, his mouth dropping open in shock.

"You found it. How'd you find it?"

Will shrugs. "Got lucky. There's a used bookstore by my apartment."

"Fuck, man." Kent flips through it, stopping to read a page every so often, a smile slowly building.

Will grabs both their bowls to take them to the kitchen. He rinses them, watching the way Kent leans over the table, already lost in the book. He stands for a minute, eyes wandering the lines of Kent’s face, the stretching of his shoulders, loose and relaxed, then Will turns away to work, leaving him behind.

Will pushes open the door to the laundry room and freezes. Boxes are stacked on the counter where he usually dumps his bag. Today he tosses it under the counter and twists a box around to look at it. He pushes it aside to look at the one under it, then pushes that one aside too.

Will works through the pile of boxes, opening each one and inspecting the tool inside. It's everything from his list, top of the line brand, the one that's twice as expensive as the next brand down. Will braces his hands against the counter and stares at the tools. His gut churns. He thinks about his own tools, some second hand, some the cheapest he could afford without having to spend more than was necessary to replace them frequently, some he spent months saving up for. Those tools were his life. One of these cost more than all of what Will has in his bag.

And Kent bought a whole line of them.

Will closes his eyes and rubs a hand across his face.

"What do you think?"

Will spins around to find Kent leaning up against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, book tucked into the fold of his elbow. The smirk on his face makes Will want to punch him- want to kiss him.

"What is this?"

"Tools. What you asked for." Kent uncrosses his arms and comes to stand by Will. He shoves the book into his back pocket and then pulls a tool from the open box in front of Will. He rolls it around in his hands. "Can't say I get the appeal, but whatever."

"You didn't have to do this."

Kent sighs. He puts the tool back and fusses with the box, avoiding Will's eyes. "Look. I get that money is a big deal to you. But it's never done anything for me."

Will deflates, the anger that had been simmering fading. He remembers what Kent said about his ex, about the way things hadn't worked out, about the way it had pulled them apart.

"The only thing it's good for is spending. So let me spend it on you."

Will sighs. "No. I'll take the tools. Because it's for your work," he tacks on before Kent can say anything. "But this-" He reaches around to tug the book from Kent's back pocket and holds it up. "This is what I like, okay?"

Kent's eyes flick across his face, then down to the book and back again. He reaches out to take the book back, wrapping his hand over Will's.

"I like it too," he admits. His fingers tighten.

Will huffs a small laugh and shakes his head. "You're the worst."

"You like it."

Kent grins that ridiculous grin again, and Will can't do anything but lean forward and kiss him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Between the Pages](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708899) by [the_bloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_bloss/pseuds/the_bloss)




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